


wherever you are, i'll come to you. wherever i am, i’ll call you.

by alexander_adele



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Needs a Hug (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gabriel Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Holy Water (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Pining, Promises, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Rescue, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Witch Hunts, but im taking liberties, i'll add tags as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexander_adele/pseuds/alexander_adele
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley make promises to protect each other. It's just an extension of the Arrangement, really. Protecting a colleague. Nothing more.Both of them know that's a lie.Promises are made, kept, broken, and mended.(ft. enchanted currency)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34





	1. prologue. promises made.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my second fic! and a MUCH bigger project than i think i anticipated haha. but im excited nonetheless! i'll be posting about a chapter a week i hope, if all goes to plan :)
> 
> this is canon-compliant but sort of an... extension to canon? basically introduces more opportunities for angst, lol. anywayssssss
> 
> MCU and Marvel fans, tell me if you catch the reference ;)
> 
> last but not least: i'm not in love with this title, but I wanted to post the fic! if you have an idea for a different title, lemme know in the comments and i might change it lol XD

**The Globe, 1601**

Aziraphale happily tossed another grape into his mouth as his friend- er, demonic _acquaintance_ sauntered away. Crowley’s promise to- well, to _encourage_ the success of Hamlet was almost enough to make Aziraphale forget his suspicion that Crowley had cheated with the whole coin-toss show.

Almost.

Though he was quite certain the toss hadn’t been 50/50, he had still put up with the results without protest. As much guilt as it brought him to admit it, he genuinely _liked_ spending time with Crowley. He enjoyed their mutually-beneficial Arrangement, and didn’t want to give the demon a reason to back out of it. And given how easy it had been to convince Crowley to help Hamlet along, he hoped he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

All in all, he couldn’t complain about the Arrangement. It certainly helped ease each of their responsibilities. And truly, while humans were fascinating, their lives were so _fleeting_ . It was comforting, at the very least, to be able to sit and have a drink with someone else who had been there since the beginning, who had _known_ him since the beginning. 

But still, a part of Aziraphale incessantly worried. 

_“If Hell found out, they wouldn’t just be angry. They’d destroy you.”_ His statement from minutes before drifted back into his mind. 

The Arrangement would be so much easier, Aziraphale told himself, if they didn’t have to worry about being... _discovered_. He was vaguely aware that saying it like _that_ sounded so juvenile- like the plot of a Shakespeare play he and Crowley had seen together. _Romeo and Juliet_ had been lovely, in Aziraphale’s opinion, but it seemed like it was the production that turned Crowley against the “gloomy ones,” as he put it. He was awfully quiet both during and after the performance.

 _“Nobody ever has to know.”_ Came the response, filtering through his thoughts. A flippant reassurance, with no real weight. No _real_ regard for Crowley’s own safety or well-being.

For a moment he considered that the Arrangement would be much less worrisome if they just had a way of communicating when they were in danger- especially danger from either of their respective slides. _If,_ he corrected. _If_. Hopefully it would never come to that. He shuddered. If either side found out… he couldn’t even imagine. 

If only there was a way of communicating quickly and discreetly between them. Humans were cleverer than he could possibly give them credit for, but racking his brain for any human invention that could do the trick turned out to be fruitless. Maybe someday they’d have some way of instantaneous communication, but for now…

_I suppose good old-fashioned “magic” will have to do. An enchantment is more traceable than using a human contraption, regrettably, so it’d have to be something discreet..._

His mind replayed the end of their conversation, a coin flipping through the air, being caught- by the being he was seeking to protect, no less. He winced at the thought- _Protecting a demon. From both Heaven and Hell. Goodness, I- what would Heaven say? Gabriel, Michael, the Archangels- what would they think?_ And for a moment he realized he wasn’t sure he’d care. He was a Principality, protective in nature. _Fiercely_ protective. Evidently even protective of a kind, charming, helpful, infuriatingly handsome _,_ friendly demon who likely _cheats_ at coin tosses-

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. _Oh, that will do nicely!_ Popping a final grape into his mouth and then handing the remainder to a surprised audience member (“Ah! Here. Truly, they’re quite lovely, but I have to go- um, do enjoy them!”), he broke into a light jog, desperately hoping to catch a certain demon before he disappeared into the crowds of London.

_________________

“Crowley!” 

The demon’s ears perked up and he tensed, whipping around at inhuman speed toward the direction of the voice. His mind was already going a mile a minute. _Why did he follow me? Is he alright, did something-_ before he knew it he was pushing through the crowded street in the direction of the voice. A horse-drawn cart passed him and he breathed a sigh of relief when familiar white curls caught his eye and he realized they were still atop the head of a wholly-intact angel. Who was, at most, looking a bit concerned. The expression retreated from his face immediately when he locked eyes with Crowley, a warm and relieved smile quickly taking its place. 

“Ah! There you-”

“Are you alright?” Crowley interrupted, the feelings of panic still fading away. Aziraphale’s brows furrowed.

“What? Yes, of course, why-” 

“I- ngk. ‘S nothing. Just-” Crowley stammered his excuse. “Didn’t expect you to follow me out ‘r anything, thought for a sec that something- y’know, _happened,_ ” he finished, feeling more ridiculous with each passing second.

“Ah.” The angel’s face softened briefly and Crowley couldn’t quite read his expression. Regardless, it was quickly replaced with a soft smile. “Well, no need to worry, I- nothing happened.” Before Crowley could argue that he wasn’t _worried,_ that’d be ridiculous- Aziraphale added, “But that _is_ what I came to ask you about.”

It was Crowley’s turn to look confused.

“This is a matter perhaps better discussed over a meal.” the angel inquired, grinning. “You wouldn’t know a good tavern where we could go… relatively unnoticed, would you?”

“You want _me_ to pick where we eat?” Crowley asked, equal parts incredulous and skeptical. (What he was really thinking was that there were few taverns he frequented where Aziraphale could walk in in _that_ outfit and go “relatively unnoticed.” Truly, he doesn’t understand how Aziraphale could walk into _any_ room and go unnoticed by anyone, but he might just be a bit- er, _biased_.)

Aziraphale pouted at his response. _Since when did angels pout?_ Crowley teased in his head.

 _Well since when did pouting get a demon, of all creatures, to do exactly what was asked of him?_ Fair point, brain.

“I might know a spot- a tavern I visited for a few higher-profile temptations,” he said, smirking. _Nice recovery,_ he thought.

Aziraphale perked up immediately. “Oh, _lovely_ \- Lead the way then, dear boy!” Aziraphale was positively beaming at him.

 _I truly can’t say no to you, angel,_ Crowley thought. _A demon constantly tempted by an angel, huh. What would Hell say?_ He wondered. But he wasn’t fairly certain he wouldn’t care anyway.

________________

It _was_ one of the finer taverns, at least. Aziraphale was glad he trusted Crowley to pick the place. He wasn’t quite in love with the food of this era, but- _you’re getting a bit off track, dear boy. Quit playing with your plate and propose your idea._

But what if Crowley wasn’t amenable? He’d look like a foolish, worrisome principality who didn’t believe that Crowley could take care of himself. But then again… the concern Crowley expressed earlier (more so just, concern he had poorly _hidden_ ) when they’d reunited in the street had given him hope that maybe he wasn’t the only one who worried. Maybe his proposal would put _both_ of them more at ease.

“Well, I must say Crowley, this food is lovely. So glad you knew a place!” Aziraphale exclaimed, voice far more enthusiastic than the tavern food deserved. Crowley raised his eyebrows, clearly not convinced by the angel’s display. Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, cleared his throat, and continued. 

“Well, onto business then, I suppose. Crowley-” he looked up at the demon, whose face was unreadable. “I have a proposition. A sort of- _extension_ to the Arrangement. This whole thing, I- well, it’s rather dangerous, isn’t it?” He laughed nervously.

“You and I and all…” 

_Not that I want you to leave, of course. Goodness, no._

“So I suppose, perhaps, it’s more of a- a _precaution_. Just in case-” 

But he stopped, unsure of how to continue. His breath felt heavy in his chest and he couldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. He was painfully aware that he was rambling closer and closer to dangerous territory- and he just didn’t know what to _say._

_In case you get hurt. In case Hell finds out. Or Heaven finds out. Or-_

“In case of the worse.” Crowley finished for him, his voice quiet. Aziraphale looked up and met his eyes, surprised to find the demon’s usual bravado had faded completely. Without it he looked- he looked _vulnerable._ Aziraphale felt his chest tighten inexplicably.

“Yes.”

A moment of understanding passed between them, no more words required.

_So. We both fear the worst._

____________

 _Oh thank Satan,_ Crowley thought. _He doesn’t want to end the Arrangement._ That was a relief. 

They were still looking at each other wordlessly. Crowley’s expression was about as unguarded as he could ever remember it being, and Aziraphale’s expression had softened in return. They both understood what was being left unsaid.

 _And he’s just as scared as me._ That was also a relief, but the sort of painfully vulnerable kind he wasn’t used to. Certainly not with anyone else. 

Crowley cleared his throat and shifted his eyes away for a brief moment, snapping both of them out of their trance. Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Crowley looked back up at him. The moment had ended, but the tone of the conversation stayed.

“Alright then, angel. What’ve you got?”

“Ah, right- well, human methods of communication won't exactly do the trick. We’re looking for speed and discretion, in case of an emergency. But I do think I have an idea.” The glint in the angel’s eyes was positively impish, and for a moment Crowley wondered if he should be nervous. “Do you have that coin from earlier? That you used for the coin toss?”

“Yup,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p.’ 

“May I see it?”

Though utterly lost, Crowley obediently fished the coin out of his pocket and placed it in Aziraphale’s open palm.

Aziraphale picked up the coin with his other hand and examined it. The coin was slim and silver, with a pair of wings engraved on one side and a serpent and apple engraved on the other. Aziraphale’s face softened as he inspected it, regarding it fondly. 

“It’s… lovely,” Aziraphale said, looking up from the coin and at Crowley as he did. Crowley thought he might discorporate. A playful smirk appeared on the angel’s face. “Well I suppose I can’t just use a regular old coin for myself then.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers. Between them, he was now holding a gold coin, which he placed in Crowley’s palm. Mirroring Aziraphale’s action moments before, Crowley picked up the coin and inspected it. The coin was golden, a pair of wings engraved on one side and an engraving of a flaming sword on the other. Crowley smiled softly and looked back up at the angel. “ ‘s beautiful, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale smiled back.

“Er- what now, though?” Crowley asked. The question seemed to snap Aziraphale out of his thoughts.

“Yes! Right. Just- if you hold it like this-” Aziraphale closed Crowley’s palm around the golden coin. “And put your other hand out like this-” Aziraphale opened Crowley’s other hand so it was flat out, palm up. “And I do the same-” Aziraphale mirrored Crowley, but with the placement of his hands reversed. Across from Aziraphale’s closed fist was Crowley’s open palm, and vice versa. Crowley couldn’t help but think it looked like they were about to play some bizarre form of patty-cake. 

“Now, this part may seem a bit odd, but if we do it right, it _should_ work, just-” Aziraphale paused, swallowing. He was staring at their hands, eyebrows were furrowed. A look of uncertainty flashed across his face, his hesitation equally evident in the sudden tenseness of his posture as well.

“Angel? Look at me,” said Crowley gently. Aziraphale looked up, his eyes wide. “I trust you.”

Aziraphale nodded. Both of them tried not to think of the danger that truth could put them in.

“Alright.” Aziraphale placed his closed fist in the palm of Crowley’s hand. Crowley did the same with his. “It’ll feel odd, but just- try to focus.”

Crowley nodded, still unsure of what that meant. 

But then suddenly he _felt it._ Aziraphale’s eyes were closed but Crowley was watching their joined hands in astonishment. He couldn’t _see_ anything happening, but-

 _Oh._ He could feel his energy and Aziraphale’s intermingling in their palms, sealing their impressions onto the coins in their hands. He could feel his energy- flowing, sharp, cold, cracked. _That_ , he was used to. But he could also feel _Aziraphale’s_ energy- his was a radiant warmth, seeping through his fingertips and into the palm of his hand. It was soothing and tranquil and comforting and purely _Aziraphale_.

He felt the energies funnel and swirl and finally concentrate into the center of his palm, where Azriaphale’s gold coin sat. When he could know longer feel the last remnants of the energy, it felt like a cold pull back to reality. 

His eyes snapped open wide and he inhaled sharply. 

____________

Aziraphale opened his eyes. When he saw Crowley’s face, his eyes widened with concern. “Crowley- are you alright? I thought it was working, I- I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

Crowley shook his head lightly, but said nothing.

“Tell me what you felt.” Aziraphale asked tentatively.

“I-” Crowley began, still breathing unevenly. His face shifted, and he finally looked at Aziraphale. “I just felt... you.” His eyes were wide and his mouth hung partially open, like he wanted to say more but wasn’t sure if he should. Aziraphale wasn't sure if he should either.

“Well then,” Aziraphale breathed, “I think it worked.” 

_____________

The next day, Crowley was busy _demonically_ encouraging the citizens of London to appreciate the fine arts. Albeit if it was a gloomy play, in his opinion. ( _Truly, I’m tempting them into paying to be miserable for a few hours,_ he thought.) 

And Aziraphale was off to Edinburgh.

But this time, both of them felt a little more secure about leaving the other behind.

“The coins can be used to summon each other in an emergency, as long as we keep them on our person at all times,” Aziraphale had explained in the tavern, after Crowley got over his initial shock. Aziraphale had placed the silver coin back in Crowley’s hand and Crowley had returned Aziraphale’s coin as well. “All you should have to do is take the coin, squeeze it in your palm, concentrate, and then the holder of the other coin will sense the call. Essentially, our energies are imprinted on the coins. That way, it’s a relatively untraceable method of communicating with each other.”

“Relatively?”

“Well, unless someone else gets a hold of the coin, then yes. It should be fine.”

Crowley nodded in response.

But that wasn’t going to happen. 

As Crowley whispered in a young man’s ear that the _perfect_ date idea would be to go see the new up-and-coming Shakespeare hit, he reassured himself that the coin was a precaution, not a new liability. 

Aziraphale was off to Scotland for a blessing-and-a-tempting, and Crowley was busy ensuring that Hamlet would become one of the most successful plays of the 17th century.

And thanks to the comforting weight of the coins in their respective pockets, both felt a little lighter than before.


	2. chapter one. let me take care of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds herself on trial for witchcraft. Nothing the Serpent of Eden can't handle. Until things go terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really really enjoyed writing this chapter, and i hope you all enjoy reading it!! 
> 
> comments and kudos are the most wonderful gifts and it IS my birthday this weekend sooooooo (jk, no pressure haha) (though i wasn't kidding about the birthday thing, lol)

**Bury St. Edmunds, England, 1645**

_How in Satan’s name am I going to explain_ this _to Lord Beelzebub if I get discorporated here?_ Crowley thought to herself. 

She was supposed to be in and out of the town for a quick temptation. But once the priest was taken care of, she had innocuously decided to linger for a few days, at least just until Hell gave her another assignment.

Crowley ended up staying far longer than she intended. While lurking about in the town’s public spaces she heard a small circle of women gossiping about an illness that was plaguing the town. Rumor was that it was “sent by God” to punish the townsfolk. _Bullshit,_ Crowley thought. _God doesn’t pull stunts like that anymore. Doubt She even cares about one measly town._ She was ready to dismiss the issue entirely until she overheard one of the women object.

“It’s already killed 10 of the children in town. True, only God knows why it’s solely affecting the young ones, but surely it can’t be a punishment? My Thomas- he’s getting worse by the day- but- but he’s only three years old, he’s done nothing _wrong._ Or is it- is it _me_ ?” Her voice lowered to almost a whisper and she looked horrified. “ _Have I done something to deserve this?_ ” The woman broke into sobs as her friends tried to comfort her. Crowley’s chest tightened in grief for the poor women, but it morphed into anger when she noticed the looks the women’s so-called _friends_ were giving each other. 

_They think she must’ve done something to deserve this,_ Crowley realized. _Damn this religious fanaticism the humans have taken to. This is bloody ridiculous._

Before thinking better of it, she walked over to the group of women and asked what they were talking about. One of them, who wasn’t busy comforting her friend, explained the situation to Crowley, who acted as if she hadn’t been eavesdropping. 

“My dear,” Crowley said to the crying woman, putting a hand gently on her shoulder. “I-” she swallowed and hesitated. She shouldn’t be doing this.

“I was a healer once.” A truth, but it was a long time ago. 

“And I think I’m familiar with the illness you’re describing.” A lie, she had barely listened to the specifics. 

“But I think I can help your son.” The truth, but a risky one.

Crowley had a soft spot for kids, not that she’d ever admit it aloud (Aziraphale as good as knew, after the whole Ark business). And since Hell _still_ hadn’t given her an assignment…

Crowley chose to stay. She saved the boy, in the nick of time too, and word travelled round the town that she could help the children dying of the illness. 

While Crowley stayed she worked as a healer in the town, even stepping in as a midwife on a few occasions. She was well aware that midwives and healers alike were commonly accused of witchcraft at the time, but the risk wasn’t high enough for her to change her mind- she was able to help the town a great deal in the months she’d stayed. She didn’t like to dwell on it too much, but… it felt _good_ to help _._ And Crowley _was_ the Serpent of Eden after all- she was sure she’d be able to talk her way out of any trouble she got into. At worst, she’d risk discorporation.

Now, locked in a small cell with manacles around her wrists, that outcome was rapidly becoming more likely.

She groaned. It was her own fault, really. She thought the town would be more _relieved_ than suspicious, and generally they were- many parental pairs were grateful to her for saving their kids. She had also hoped that given the mass execution the town had held months ago, burning a grand total of _eighteen_ townsfolk, they had gotten enough of the witch-hunting frenzy out of their system. She was _almost_ right.

Until the cold had set in, and she got careless. The winter months were always _miserable_ \- truly, who could blame her for curling up by the fire after a long day? The real issue, however, was that she had taken to quite literally _curling_ up by the fire. In her snake form. 

Which normally wouldn’t be a problem. The cottage she was staying in was on the edge of town, and no one usually came by in the later hours of the night. Plus, humans generally valued and respected privacy.

Except she had made a few friends in her time spent there. (How embarrassing, a demon having _friends._ Crowley tried not to dwell on it, and tried harder not to smile when she did. She often failed.) Most of these friends were families whose children she had helped heal. Several kids had even made a habit of stopping by during the day and helping her in her garden when the weather had been warm.

Except on this particular night, Margaret, the mother of the first boy she’d helped, sent her son over to Crowley’s cottage to bring over an extra loaf of bread they’d made. When the young boy, Thomas, knocked on the door and Crowley didn’t answer, he got curious. _Partially_ worried, but mostly curious. He snuck around the back and peaked through a window. 

To his astonishment, curled up in front of the fire was a large, shiny, black and red snake, dozing peacefully. He sprinted back to his house, the bread long forgotten after being dropped in surprise. When he arrived, he frantically told his mother that he feared Miss Crowley had been eaten by a ferocious snake who was now sleeping by her fireplace.

Margaret scolded him for being ridiculous, but went to go check on her neighbor and apologize for her son’s antics nonetheless. 

When Margaret came knocking, Crowley finally woke up. She hastily transformed back to her human form, and as soon as her last scales had faded away she answered the door. Still groggy from sleep and slightly annoyed at having been woken up in the first place, she assured Margaret as quickly and politely as she could that all was well, she had just been asleep when Thomas came by. Crowley thought Margaret looked uneasy at her explanation, but she couldn’t figure what had made her look so unnerved. Margaret stammered an apology for waking her and rushed back off to her house, making a hasty excuse about reassuring Thomas. She started walking back but Crowley remained in her doorway, and gave a small wave when Martha glanced back nervously. She turned back and seemed to walk slightly faster.

_Well that was odd,_ Crowley thought, backing out of the doorway and closing the door gently behind her. She slumped against the door in relief, letting out a shaky breath. That had been a close call. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. 

_Why did she look so nervous? My explanation was perfectly harmless, so what on Earth-_

And then Crowley caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror sitting on her desk.

She scrambled upwards from where she had been leaning against the door and hurriedly grabbed the mirror off her desk, gripping it so tight it was a miracle it didn’t shatter.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, SHIT._

Her eyes were full-blown serpentine gold. Her chest grew tight and her hands were shaking so badly she dropped the mirror to the floor and it shattered, jerking her out of her thoughts.

Her chest heaved as she tried desperately not to panic, desperately trying to think of what to do next. She couldn’t stay- rumors circulated fast and given the fact she _forgot to hide her bloody eyes,_ the council could have sufficient evidence to send men to arrest her by morning at the earliest. They’d certainly killed other women with less evidence.

Stifling sobs, she began to pack her things. She didn’t actually need to _bring_ much, but it gave her a needed distraction. At least that’s what she had hoped. 

Instead, her thoughts spiraled without her permission. 

_Damn the wintery cold and this carelessness that’ll get me killed._

_Damn my_ _eyes. Burned from the bloody sulphur, stardust turned ugly and monstrous. Of course she was scared, that’s what I am. A monster._

_Damn the fact that I was ridiculous enough to try and make_ _friends and hope they’d see me as anything other than what I am._

_Damn the fact that I was ridiculous enough to think after over 5,000 years a demon could try to do any good and that it would turn out well._

By the time she finished packing her hands were shaking and she could no longer suppress the sobs she had been holding back. Utterly exhausted, she collapsed on the floor of her cottage, weeping. She couldn’t seem to stop.

She told herself she’d get up to leave at the first light of the morning. 

It was still dark out when the Witchfinders broke down her cottage door.

______________

The cell was cold and Crowley’s legs had grown stiff from kneeling on the floor so long. She was still wearing the loose dress she had worn the night before, and she could feel the chill of the cell floor through the single, thin layer of material. Her hands were bound behind her back, and her arms ached from being in that position for hours. She had made it through the first round of questioning and had reasonable hope that she could convince the council members that this had all been a terrible misunderstanding.

The worst part was that the courthouse had once doubled as a church- so while the ground didn’t burn her feet, it’s residual holy energy still stung and drained her occult powers. She was too weak to miracle herself away, and guilt sat heavy on her chest. This whole mess was her fault and she knew it. She’d have to get out of there another way, but was still hopeful that she could.

Then suddenly she felt it. A _Holy_ aura in the building, a few rooms away. She inhaled sharply, and felt a wave of overwhelming relief for only a brief moment. 

As far as Crowley knew, Aziraphale was supposed to be halfway across the world, performing some blessing in-

_No_. The aura was too _hot,_ too _piercing._ It almost _stung_ Crowley’s occult senses. 

The relief that had washed over her just as quickly disappeared and resettled as a weight in the pit of her stomach.

It was someone _Holy_ , but it certainly wasn’t Aziraphale. _Fuck._

She heard the door to the cell unlock and her head snapped up at the sound.

Into the cell walked the very last angel she wished to see, smirking down at her with more malice in his eyes than should be possible for a supposedly divine being.

“ _Gabriel_ ,” she hissed, his smirk only widening at the acknowledgement.

“Hello, Raphael.” Crowley winced at the sound of her old name. “Oh, so sorry,” Gabe said, mockingly pouting. “I believe you go by _Crawley_ now, is that right?”

“It’s Crowley,” she corrected, glaring up at him.

“No,” Gabriel tutted. “I think Crawley makes sense, with the whole Serpent-of-Eden thing…” He began pacing around the cell, sizing her up as if she were a specimen. Crowley didn’t take her eyes off of him, her fangs bared and eyes serpent-like in her anger. “Goodness, how _far_ an archangel can Fall! It’s truly fascinating.” Gabriel said, mockingly. He stopped abruptly in front of her, having circled around her once fully. He squatted down until he was face to face with her, and spoke to her as if she was a child being reprimanded. 

“Or did you _forget_ that? That you _did_ Fall.” Crowley grimaced. “What on _Her_ _Earth_ made you think playing hero, playing healer, playing _angel,_ would be a good idea?” 

Gabriel straightened up, towering over her again. “You _disgust_ me.” 

“How did you find me?” Crowley asked. She was too tired to come up with a more snarky comeback, which said something. _Plus… maybe if he had found me, there was hope that Aziraphale-_

Gabriel laughed coldly, interrupting her thoughts. “I heard of a healer who had showed up and miraculously saved the town’s population of children.” His eyes narrowed. “I knew an _archangel_ once with a gift for healing. Who’d become a _demon_ with a _soft spot_ for children. A weakness that even led them to intervene with the Divine Plan back in Mesopotamia.” Crowley’s stomach dropped. She hadn’t known that Heaven had ever found out about her stunt on the Ark. Gabriel’s explanation continued, jolting out of her thoughts. “Oh, and the witch could turn into a _snake._ ” He smirked. “A monstrous thing. And quite careless of her, really.” The guilt in Crowley’s chest wasn’t helped by the reminder that echoed her own thoughts.

Gabriel bent down again, this time grabbing Crowley’s chin and tilting it upwards, forcing her to look at him. “So glad I came up to see the show though. An opportunity I truly couldn’t pass up,” he said, looking at her in a way that made her skin crawl. Crowley swallowed nervously. She knew there was more he wasn’t telling her, or else he wouldn’t be _relishing_ this so much. Discorporation alone wasn’t that exciting. He let go of her chin before continuing.

“I was able to give the council members some great advice as well.” He looked her in the eyes and she felt the pit in her stomach swell. “For the best methods to get _confessions_ out of witches.” He grinned and paused, clearly waiting for her to ask. 

“And what’s that?”

The malicious grin on Gabriel’s face did not belong on an angel. But it was a look Crowley had seen commonly enough in Hell among the faces of the Fallen and the damned. 

“I told them diluted Holy Water would burn on the skin of witches.” 

Crowley’s eyes widened and her mouth felt dry. She could feel her heart beating painfully against her ribcage, the organ she didn’t even need threatening to burst out of her chest. 

Holy Water blessed by an archangel, even heavily diluted… _enough of it could kill her before she even confessed._

“Oh how the tables have _turned_! How do you like that, starshine?” Gabriel clapped his hands in front of him, visibly excited. The nickname stung. “What happened to the ferocious Serpent baring her teeth and hissing a moment ago?”

Crowley’s eyes snapped back up to him and she snarled. “ _She’s ssssstill here_.”

“Oh, but maybe not for long,” Gabriel said, grinning wildly. “Regrettably, I can’t stick around for the whole show,” he said, fake pouting once again. “I _did_ tell them the water wouldn’t be useful for the actual _execution_ , but I’m not sure they’ll listen.” His face was twisted into mock concern. Crowley would’ve ripped him apart without a second thought if she weren’t bound. “Regardless, it gives me an excuse if Beez gets onto my case about killing one of their earth operatives. I don’t particularly _care_ if you live or die, but I don’t need Hell on my case about it.” He headed toward the cell door, opened it, and turned back one last time before leaving.

“Have fun, starshine.” He grinned maliciously, and then he was gone.

Crowley was alone for a precious few minutes before two men came into the room and dragged her out of the cell for the second round of interrogation.

____________

Crowley began to drift in and out consciousness during the latter half of the interrogation. The holy water burns scattered along her arms and back had begun sapping both the energy of her corporation and her occult power as well. 

She awoke lying facedown on the cold floor of her cell. Her hands were now bound in front of her, as they had been moved during the trial for better access to her arms and back for repeated “testing” of the holy water. Her dress had been torn in several spots for the same reason. Crowley’s body was sore and stiff and she could scarcely move without wincing in pain. Her head had bled profusely from a gash where a guard had hit her in an attempt to shut her up. Her blood was smeared on the floor of the cell, and she could feel dried blood on her face and in her hair, sticky and warm and unpleasant. _At least the bleeding had stopped._

Her ears were ringing and she didn’t want to open her eyes further. The cold floor felt soothing against the burns on a corporeal level, but the divinity of the burns stung her to the core. 

Crowley _was_ conscious for the part of the trial where they declared she would be executed at dawn. She couldn’t fathom any discorporation that could bring her more pain than she already felt. Unless the council ignored Gabriel’s warning, that is. She grimaced at the thought, and shuddered involuntarily.

Her only hope now was the coin tucked in her pocket and the angel at the other end of it. She had been able to use the coin in the precious few minutes between Gabriel leaving and the guardsmen returning. Crowley felt a wave of gratitude that she had thought of it earlier and not now. She wasn’t sure she’d even have the strength to get it from her pocket in her current state.

She whimpered at the realization, hot tears prickling at the edge of her eyes. Even if Aziraphale _did_ come, this is how he would find her. Sobbing on the floor of a cell, hands bound, blood on her face and holy burns covering her body. How _pathetic_ was she? A demon brought to the brink of death, _true_ death, by a handful of pesky humans, a meddling archangel, and her own carelessness. A wave of shame washed over her and the tears fell harder.

_What will Aziraphale think?_ The answer came to her mind as soon as she asked it.

_He’ll realize I was never worth saving in the first place._

When Crowley slipped out of consciousness, she was still sobbing.

___________

Crowley was pulled back to reality by the sound of the cell door creaking opening.

_Oh God, no- Please, no, it can’t be morning already._ She couldn’t muster the strength to open her eyes and confirm it.

Crowley felt someone grab her bound wrists and she jerked away, wincing at the pain the sudden movement brought. There were hot tears streaming down her cheeks, and she felt as if she could barely breathe. Her lungs struggled to bring in air through her sobs and her chest felt terribly constricted. Her ears were ringing and the world felt heavy around her. She couldn’t bear to open her eyes.

The person in the cell hadn't tried to touch her again. Crowley could hear the man speaking, but couldn’t make out the words clearly enough. After a few moments he went quiet. 

Then, to her surprise, what was left of her occult senses began to prickle and warm pleasantly. It was subtle at first, and eased over her reassuringly, when she realized-

_Aziraphale._ She finally had the strength to open her eyes, comforted by knowing who she’d see.

The angel’s eyes were scanning her face and she could see his mouth moving but still couldn’t quite hear the words. He looked painfully concerned, edging on desperate. 

“... _’Ziraphale,”_ she managed to breath out. Aziraphale’s eyes met hers and she smiled softly. Aziraphale laughed sadly but looked relieved. He moved closer to her and she let him, his hands hovered questioningly over hers before she nodded in affirmation and he removed the ropes binding her wrists.

“ _It’s alright… ‘nt worry, love… getting out… jiffy.”_ Crowley was beginning to hear snippets of reassurances from the angel, though she wasn’t sure she was hearing them all properly. Aziraphale tried to lift her up, but she winced at the pain that came from putting her weight on her burnt arms. Aziraphale waved a hand over her arms and the burns briefly tingled and then cooled- not healed or anything near, but soothed for the time being. She sighed in relief, her eyes drooping shut against her will, her legs swaying unsteadily under her. She was vaguely aware that she was being picked up by the angel, one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back, trying to avoid the worst of the burns

“ _Will wake… dreamt… you love best,”_ was the last thing Crowley heard before drifting off to sleep. 

__________

When Crowley awoke the first thing she registered was how _soft_ the ground felt. 

The second was that it wasn't the _ground_ at all, and she must not be in the cell anymore. The third was-

_Aziraphale came._

Crowley opened her eyes. She was laying on the bed in the room of a small cottage. It was still dark out, but the moon was full and it’s light shone through the window, illuminating the room in tandem with a few burning candles. There were books crammed on every inch of shelf space, and a small desk in the corner of the room. Crowley looked down and realized the burns on her right arm had been bandaged up. She tried to sit up and _Fuck, that hurts-_ she groaned, eyes screwed shut in pain.

“Oh! My dear girl, I didn’t realize you were awake-” Crowley looked up and Aziraphale was standing in the doorway holding a bowl of water, a clean cloth, and bandages. “Let me help you dear-” Aziraphale hurried to Crowley’s side, deposited the items in his arms on the bedside table, and helped her sit up, minding the burns on her arms and back. When he pulled away Crowley missed the contact.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Aziraphale asked, eyes full of concern.

“Well- I’m alive, I ‘spose,” Crowley answered, smiling softly at the angel. She ran her hands through her hair to get it out of her face and realized Aziraphale had also cleaned and bandaged the cut on her head. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” she added softly. Aziraphale’s hair was practically glowing in the candlelight, and it looked like a proper halo. It was quite distracting if Crowley was being honest with herself- or, at least a more welcome distraction than the pain.

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale responded, looking relieved.

Crowley’s chest tightened. “And I’m sorry,” she added, averting her gaze. She pulled her hands to her lap and fidgeted with them uncomfortably.

“For what?” Aziraphale asked, sounding lost. He tentatively put his hand on Crowley’s knee, his thumb stroking back and forth as if to soothe her. She felt the twinge of guilt in her chest grow stronger.

“For getting myself into this mess. I- I was _careless_ , and it’s all my _fault_ and I’m so sorry I had to call-”

“I’m glad you did,” Azirphale interrupted. “My dear girl, I’m very, _very_ glad you did.” Crowley swallowed and she felt a tear run down her cheek. “Crowley, _please_ look at me.” She looked, because she _owed him that._ Her breath caught in her throat at the look on her angel’s face.

“Thank you for calling, for using the coin, I- it’s why we _have_ it. I’m glad you called and I’m… I’m just thankful I got there in time.” Crowley nodded in understanding, and the feeling in her chest slowly started to retreat, replaced by the comforting warmth that Aziraphale’s presence often brought. He smiled at her briefly, but his expression turned sour as he seemed to remember something. “And I’m _appalled_ that those miscreants thought to use Holy Water in the first place. Why on _Earth_ would they think-”

“It was Gabriel,” Crowley interrupted. Aziraphale froze. “He realized it was me and… gave the suggestion without telling them what I really was.”

Aziraphale was frozen and Crowley couldn’t read the look on his face, which was a rare thing indeed after knowing someone for 6000 years. “I’m sorry, angel,” she offered, trying to break the silence that was slowly becoming unbearable.

“Please don’t apologize my dear, I- I’m sorry. I should’ve _known_ he was there, usually they- usually Heaven tells me these things, I- I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale looked on the verge of blaming _himself_ and _No,_ Crowley was _not having that._

“Nothing to apologize for, angel. I’m glad you came.” She smiled reassuringly at him. Aziraphale met her eyes and something in his face softened. He smiled softly.

“Let me take care of you, my dear. I can’t miracle these burns better, but- I’ll do what I can.” Crowley nodded in affirmation.

Aziraphale started by dipping the cloth in the cool water, wringing it out, and dabbing the cloth gently along the burns. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief at the sensation, and felt her eyes drift shut. She found herself relaxing more and more throughout the process, feeling truly _safe_ for the first time all day. Aziraphale began with the wounds on her back, and once they were properly cleaned and bandaged she was able to lie back while he tended to the burns on her arm. By the time he was done, she had nearly drifted back to sleep.

Though she couldn’t see it, she could feel Aziraphale’s contented smile as he wrapped the last bandage. She regretted the loss of contact as his hand pulled away, and she frowned when she heard him stand up and turn as if to leave.

“ _’ziraphale…_?” she mumbled, slurring the word slightly. Her eyes were closed and her eyebrows were furrowed.

“Yes, dear?” 

“...stay?” the demon asked sleepily. Golden eyes opened and looked at him, pleading. Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat. “...please?”

“I-” Aziraphale swallowed nervously. “Of course, my dearest.” He sat back down on the edge of the bed and tentatively reached for Crowley’s hand. She accepted it without hesitation. He began stroking his thumb along the back of her hand in what he hoped was a soothing motion. Her eyes drifted shut again and she smiled. Aziraphale swore he could feel his heart, the entirely unnecessary organ that it was, skip a beat in his chest. 

Within a matter of minutes, Crowley was fast asleep. 

Aziraphale gazed at the demon asleep in his bed, and marvelled at their whole situation. At the two of them and the enigma they were. At the fact that a demon was comfortable enough to sleep around an angel. At the fact that if the roles were reversed, he would certainly trust Crowley enough in turn.

He considered- _No, that would be ridiculous._ Even something as innocent as a kiss on the forehead seemed... too much. Even if it was mostly just to reassure himself that his demon was with him, safe and in one piece. He settled for brushing a lock of hair out of Crowley’s face, his fingers lingering as long as they dared before retreating. 

He felt a surge of gratitude for the coin in his pocket, and a surge of love for the demon who lay in front of him, peacefully asleep. _Love, indeed._ There was no use denying it anymore, bizarre and wonderful as it was.

“ _Thank you, my love,_ ” he whispered. “ _Thank you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my friend TJ and Akira for reading this ahead of time and encouraging me!! they are @TJQPastor and @Yearning_Gay on twitter, respectively. love you both!!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to my friend TJ (@TJQPastor on twitter and ChristocentricQueer here on AO3) for reading this ahead of time and encouraging me to write!!


End file.
